


Touch Me

by veiledndarkness



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-03-29
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veiledndarkness/pseuds/veiledndarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither one of them seems to notice that they're putting on a show. Written for the twd_kinkmeme on Livejournal</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me

It’s hard to look away and even harder to ignore. 

In fact, it’s damn near impossible to pretend that it isn’t happening and yet, when it does (as it does every single night), no one can take their eyes off of them. 

It starts slow. That’s the problem with it. It’s slow and gradual, so gradual that at first it’s not overly obvious. Each night, after everyone has their dinner, usually after they’ve finished eating, there’s a sense of calmness. It’s a false feeling but things like that are what they cling to, what humans need at the end of the world. 

With everyone settled in, some telling stories, others just watching the flames in the fire pit, eventually the others will start to notice that Daryl’s shifted in his seat and is resting against Merle, his knee brushing Merle’s, as close as can be in two folding chairs, side by side.

And then, as if by accident, Merle will bring his hand down over Daryl’s, curling their fingers together on Daryl’s thigh. His hands are bigger than Daryl’s. Everything about him is bigger, and Daryl sticks to his side like a loyal pet, pressed against him as often as can be. 

Merle’s thumb will start to move, like a twitch almost. He’ll swipe his thumb back and forth across Daryl’s hand, moving inch by inch until he’s rubbing slowly across the underside of Daryl’s wrist in a lazy circle and Daryl sits there, his eyes half open, a look of calm gracing his features. 

It’s like it centers him, the feel of Merle’s broad, warm fingers rubbing teasingly slow circles along Daryl’s wrist. He moves with an exaggerated slowness, moving from the wrist and up along Daryl’s fingers, stroking, smoothing and rubbing across the roughened skin of his younger brother’s hand. 

And Daryl…God, he’s like putty in the man’s hand. He rests closer to him, a dazed look to his face and if Merle should stop, even for a moment, Daryl rubs against him, nudging his leg or pushing his head against Merle’s muscled bicep in annoyance, almost _demanding_ more, insisting on these touches. 

There’s no way to look away. There’s something erotic almost about the way Merle strokes him, using his thumb and fingers to touch him, moving from his hand, up his arm and along his shoulder, rubbing and petting until he reaches his brother’s hair. He runs his fingers along the edges of Daryl’s hair, his thumb rubbing gently over Daryl’s ear, petting him almost lovingly. 

Before long, Daryl will be leaning in more and more, his own hands moving to touch Merle’s shirt, if he’s wearing one that night, or toy with the buttons at the side of his favoured vest. He bites his bottom lip, shifting his legs to rest on Merle and moving so slowly that it’s almost a surprise when he ends up in Merle’s lap, sprawled over him. 

Not that it seems to bother Merle, far from it. 

He just holds the boy closer as Daryl arches his back and mutters whisper-quiet demands to have his back rubbed and moving from side to side, practically _wriggling_ on his brother’s lap. It’s arousing to watch, to see Daryl sprawl back over Merle, draped over him, his eyes glazed as Merle’s hand rubs down Daryl’s chest, stroking his skin, his thumb brushing teasingly close to the boy’s nipples, rubbing and stroking as slowly as when he first began. 

And neither of them look at each other, both seem to be watching the fire, unaware of the multiple sets of eyes on them and Daryl’s making soft sounds under his breath, rubbing his hips back and forth on Merle’s lap, his head on Merle’s shoulder, his lips parted slightly, and it’s almost too much to watch. It’s obscene and erotic and when it keeps happening, night after night, Rick knows that it won’t be long before he has to ask them to stop.

He knows that the others are uncomfortable at best but he can’t help the rush of arousal he feels when Merle’s hand moves across Daryl’s skin after dinner each night.


End file.
